dark, tangled beard and a deeply tanned, sun-creased face. He rowed until his boat was three paces away, then pulled in his oars to drift close by. Gazing at Telk’s sword he grinned. “Ye lads pirates?”
“Nay,” replied Telk.
“Ah thought not. More like fensmen, by the look o’ ye. Why are ye out here?”
“To make our way in the world,” said Froan.
The man’s grin broadened. “In a sinkin’ boat with nary a paddle? Ye’re none too smart, but mayhap yer clever enough to pull an oar.”
“We can do that,” said Froan.
“Then swim on over, and Ah’ll take ye aboard.”
“We can’t swim,” said Telk.
“Well, ’tis a pity,” said the man. “But Ah’ll pull alongside,so ye can board.” He gazed at Telk as if sizing him up. “Ye go first, but afore ye do, hand me that sword. Those vittles, too.”
Telk turned to Froan, silently asking his permission. As Froan nodded, the man maneuvered his craft until its side nestled against the reed boat. As Telk handed over his sword, Froan nimbly hopped into the other craft. The man appeared annoyed, but he attempted to hide it. “Whoa, young hare!” he said as his boat rocked from Froan’s quick boarding. “Ye’ll capsize us. Then yer way in the world will be straight to the river bottom. What’s the big fella’s name?”
“Telk.”
“Now Telk, no hoppin’. Hand me the vittles, then step over easy.”
Froan caught the man’s eyes with his gaze. “After you take the food,” he said, “don’t leave him behind.”
The stranger looked startled. Then he forced a smile as Froan continued to stare at him. “Why would ye say that?”
“Because you intended to leave me behind.”
An uneasy silence followed. After Telk boarded the boat, Froan released the man from his gaze. The stranger looked away and said in a husky voice, “Ah don’t know what ye’re talkin’ ’bout.” Afterward, he picked up the oars and began to row.
As they neared the waiting boat, Froan steeled himself for what would happen next. One glimpse into his “rescuer’s” eyes left him no doubt that his life was in danger and a single misstep would prove fatal. Yet instead of fear, he felt rage. His hatred for the man who had intended to take his food and abandon him was visceral. He was tempted to kill him on the spot, but he knew that would be foolish. Thus he put on a bland face to hide his feelings.
Froan studied the crew in the ship ahead. They varied in age, but all possessed a hardened look. He also noted that each man was armed. While Froan watched the crew, theyalso gazed at him and Telk with the cold manner of predators.
They didn’t pluck us from the river out of kindness
, he thought.
Most like, we seem small but easy pickings
.
Sitting in the small boat, wearing only a breechclout and a short goatskin cloak, Froan knew he appeared vulnerable. Moreover, he imagined that the waiting crew saw him as a boy, not a man. Yet while part of him had lived only seventeen winters, another part was far more ancient. A veteran of a thousand battles, that part wasn’t inhibited by fear or the slightest shred of humanity. Its instincts were those that Froan’s father had counseled him to follow. As Froan drew ever nearer to the waiting men, he understood that he must heed those instincts to survive. Nothing from his life in the fens and certainly none of his mother’s lessons readied him for the upcoming confrontation. Yet Froan was prepared, far more prepared than the waiting men could possibly imagine.
The rowboat reached its destination. Two lines were thrown out, and the small craft was secured alongside the larger one. Hands were extended, so Froan, Telk, and the man who had brought them could be pulled onto the main vessel. Froan gazed about it once he was aboard. Built for speed, the slender boat was entirely open. There were six pairs of benches, each bench long enough to accommodate two oarsmen. A narrow aisle ran between the benches, widening at the bow
“Nay,” replied Telk.
“Ah thought not. More like fensmen, by the look o’ ye. Why are ye out here?”
“To make our way in the world,” said Froan.
The man’s grin broadened. “In a sinkin’ boat with nary a paddle? Ye’re none too smart, but mayhap yer clever enough to pull an oar.”
“We can do that,” said Froan.
“Then swim on over, and Ah’ll take ye aboard.”
“We can’t swim,” said Telk.
“Well, ’tis a pity,” said the man. “But Ah’ll pull alongside,so ye can board.” He gazed at Telk as if sizing him up. “Ye go first, but afore ye do, hand me that sword. Those vittles, too.”
Telk turned to Froan, silently asking his permission. As Froan nodded, the man maneuvered his craft until its side nestled against the reed boat. As Telk handed over his sword, Froan nimbly hopped into the other craft. The man appeared annoyed, but he attempted to hide it. “Whoa, young hare!” he said as his boat rocked from Froan’s quick boarding. “Ye’ll capsize us. Then yer way in the world will be straight to the river bottom. What’s the big fella’s name?”
“Telk.”
“Now Telk, no hoppin’. Hand me the vittles, then step over easy.”
Froan caught the man’s eyes with his gaze. “After you take the food,” he said, “don’t leave him behind.”
The stranger looked startled. Then he forced a smile as Froan continued to stare at him. “Why would ye say that?”
“Because you intended to leave me behind.”
An uneasy silence followed. After Telk boarded the boat, Froan released the man from his gaze. The stranger looked away and said in a husky voice, “Ah don’t know what ye’re talkin’ ’bout.” Afterward, he picked up the oars and began to row.
As they neared the waiting boat, Froan steeled himself for what would happen next. One glimpse into his “rescuer’s” eyes left him no doubt that his life was in danger and a single misstep would prove fatal. Yet instead of fear, he felt rage. His hatred for the man who had intended to take his food and abandon him was visceral. He was tempted to kill him on the spot, but he knew that would be foolish. Thus he put on a bland face to hide his feelings.
Froan studied the crew in the ship ahead. They varied in age, but all possessed a hardened look. He also noted that each man was armed. While Froan watched the crew, theyalso gazed at him and Telk with the cold manner of predators.
They didn’t pluck us from the river out of kindness
, he thought.
Most like, we seem small but easy pickings
.
Sitting in the small boat, wearing only a breechclout and a short goatskin cloak, Froan knew he appeared vulnerable. Moreover, he imagined that the waiting crew saw him as a boy, not a man. Yet while part of him had lived only seventeen winters, another part was far more ancient. A veteran of a thousand battles, that part wasn’t inhibited by fear or the slightest shred of humanity. Its instincts were those that Froan’s father had counseled him to follow. As Froan drew ever nearer to the waiting men, he understood that he must heed those instincts to survive. Nothing from his life in the fens and certainly none of his mother’s lessons readied him for the upcoming confrontation. Yet Froan was prepared, far more prepared than the waiting men could possibly imagine.
The rowboat reached its destination. Two lines were thrown out, and the small craft was secured alongside the larger one. Hands were extended, so Froan, Telk, and the man who had brought them could be pulled onto the main vessel. Froan gazed about it once he was aboard. Built for speed, the slender boat was entirely open. There were six pairs of benches, each bench long enough to accommodate two oarsmen. A narrow aisle ran between the benches, widening at the bow
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